


do you feel it in your stomach?

by orphan_account



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Confessions, Fluff, M/M, Post-Time Skip, Sakusa Kiyoomi just has it bad tbh, Ushijima is helpful
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:55:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24907969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Sakusa mistakes the butterflies in his stomach for the stomach flu.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 20
Kudos: 492





	do you feel it in your stomach?

**Author's Note:**

> I thought about this at work and then wrote it the next day... I love being in sakuatsu hell!

Sakusa is pretty sure he’s dying. 

“That was a killer Omi-kun,” Atsumu says, bringing his hand to rest on Sakusa’s shoulder. “We’re pretty much unstoppable together, ain’t we?” Sakusa stays quiet, simply nods and stares at the ball across the court he just spiked. 

On a normal day he would make a smart comeback about how _he_ was the one that just spiked the ball after all, not Atsumu, but today his shoulder burns where Atsumu touches. 

Words are out of the picture. 

He feels the gentle squeeze of the setter’s fingers and the burn spreads, a heavy thrum that fills his stomach and he yanks himself away in a hurry. Sakusa tries to avoid thinking about the soft proud smile he caught a glimpse of on Miya’s face. 

Unable to form his usual glare whenever the Miya gets too close for comfort (he’s gotten so used to the touches but he’s still Sakusa Kiyoomi and well, he doesn’t think anyone can quite get used to Atsumu’s proximity), he just continues on with practice as if he isn’t burning up from the inside out. 

The rest of practice goes horribly wrong. 

After his set up with Atsumu, he’s consecutively unable to connect any of the balls and when he is, his spikes are sloppy and can be easily received. There’s twisting in his stomach and his mind is filled with images of hands that aren’t his, familiar and warm, but awfully distracting. Maybe he’s getting sick, it's flu season after all. 

“Hey Omi-san, is everything okay?” Hinata asks, eyes wide at his recent attempt at a spike that went completely off court. He can feel Atsumu’s curious stare behind him and his fists clench at his sides. 

The only logical explanation for his lacking performance is that Miya Atsumu has transferred his germs via earlier touch, thus making the swirling in his stomach and heat stuck on his cheeks a symptom of a cold. So he really is sick. All of his dedicated work to prevent this very thing from happening and one stupid Miya comes along and ruins it. Of course.

“I think I’m getting sick,” he says rigidly. 

“Huh, you were doin’ just fine about fifteen minutes ago.” Atsumu joins Hinata’s side and Sakusa’s stomach gets even more twisty-and-turny. “You got me sick didn’t you?” he jabs at Atsumu and he’s met with a confused face. 

“What are you even talkin’ about Omi-Omi?” he has a lopsided smile on his face and Sakusa wants nothing more than to k— 

“I think I need to go home. Now.” 

*

He ends up getting permission to leave practice an hour early. Atsumu being the cheeky bastard he is, asks him if he needs help getting home, “you know since you’re sick and all.” He would tell him to fuck off if he had the ability to form coherent words, instead he settles for a weak scoff. “Feel better soon then, Omi-Omi.”

Sakusa pretends he doesn’t hear him. 

For a few minutes he debates if it’s necessary to check himself in at the nearest emergency room, but he settles for taking a scalding hot shower and scrubbing his skin bare. Paying special attention to the shoulder Miya touched, he scrubs, scrubs, scrubs. 

Maybe if he scrubbed hard enough he wouldn’t feel sick to his stomach picturing the setter’s face and his warm hands all over his skin. 

About half a bottle of body wash later and he feels a tiny bit better. He checks his temperature twice just to make sure he hasn’t developed a fever. There’s still a faint hum in the pit of his stomach but his face doesn’t feel hot anymore and his temperature is finally back to normal. 

A cup of tea would probably help calm his stomach, but the pang comes back as soon he thinks about practice. Sakusa thinks of cocky smiles, heavy glances, and the hand on his shoulder and the feeling comes back.

What the hell. 

Maybe Ushijima could help him figure out what sort of illness he’s managed to develop.

*

“Ugh,” is the first thing out of his mouth when the Adler’s spiker picks up his call, followed by an equally startling, “I think I’m dying.” 

“Hello to you, Sakusa,” his voice was as stoic and calm as ever. 

“Wakatoshi-kun,” at this point he’s curled himself in a fetal position on his bed, phone balancing on his ear as he rubs his stomach willing the weird tingles to _go away, godammit,_ “it seems I’ve gotten sick.” 

“You must be wrong, you never get sick,” Ushijma answers him, of course he’s being as matter-of-fact as possible. 

And he’s right, Sakusa doesn’t even remember the last time he was _actually_ sick, not counting the times he _thought_ he was sick. He eats properly, wears a mask everywhere public, disinfects things carefully, and overall takes excellent care of himself. But that still doesn’t explain the stomach pain. 

“I think it might be the stomach flu,” Sakusa shivers at the thought, hands going cold “My stomach feels weird and my cheeks were burning earlier. It has to be the stomach flu, _right_?” 

“Are any of your teammates sick?” Sakusa thinks he sounds pretty bored, which offends him since he’s currently going through a crisis, they have a game scheduled soon, he _can’t_ be sick.

“Miya might be,” and there it is again. Sakusa grips his stomach harder now, thinking violent thoughts towards those stupid setter hands, “But he wasn’t showing any symptoms during practice, maybe hes asymptomatic, I read that bacteria can travel through a lot of places and he touched me during practice-”

“Did you feel sick right after he touched you?” Bingo! Maybe Ushijima wasn’t useless after all, since that was exactly it. 

Atsumu had definitely planted his bacteria or a virus he was carrying onto him. That would explain his symptoms and why he currently feels like throwing up at the thought of bleached blonde hair and undercuts and snarky comebacks. 

“Do you feel butterflies in your stomach whenever you think about him?” Sakusa doesn’t know what he’s getting at but he’s pretty sure he hates the sound of it. 

“I mean, sort of? What do butterflies have anything to do with me being sick? Besides, physically that’s impossible,” Sakusa had to give it to him, if he could properly put the pain into words it was like an entire swarm of newly released butterflies were fluttering and making their home inside of him. 

“I mean no disrespect to you Sakusa-kun, after being called the dense one for ages, I think you’re the real dense one,” Sakusa sputters and glares at the wall pretending it’s Ushijima, because _what?_

“I think you’re mistaking the butterflies in your stomach you feel for Miya for being sick,” Sakusa’s mouth opens stunned. There wasn’t a single ounce of emotion in Wakatoshi’s voice, and yet here he is, accusing Sakusa of _feeling feelings_ for Atsumu instead of taking this seriously! 

“You’ve lost your mind.” With a click, he ends the call. 

He gets a text a few seconds later, _I didn’t mean to offend you. It’s just that you’re always talking about him. Just think about it. Feel better. -_ Wakatoshi.

Like _hell,_ he’s going to think about it. He’s going straight to sleep. 

*

He stays up thinking about it. It’s still early, and practice should be well over now. Sakusa curses his racing mind for being unable to sleep. Distractions aren’t easy to find when they all fall back to thinking about small smiles, enthusiastic high fives, and a hand gripping his shoulder. _Had it always been like this?_

Atsumu had always been a constant in his life, more annoying than anything else, but when _exactly_ had it gotten to a point where he started looking forwards to a hand on his back after a clean spike. And why _exactly_ did it make him feel like he had the godamn stomach flu?

_You’re always talking about him._

Was he? Sakusa thinks of the times he had met with Ushijima and they discussed their practices and teams. So maybe he had talked about Atsumu a lot, but he was his setter, of course he would.

It has nothing to do with the way he always invites his setter’s arm around him on their way home from a match or the way he initiates banter just to see that signature sideways smirk of his. Nothing to do with the way the only shoulder he feels comfortable enough sleeping against is Miya’s, how he should feel disgusted by the way he always feels fingers through his hair when Atsumu thinks he’s asleep, but he can’t quite allow himself to. 

It has nothing to do with that.

Miya Atsumu, you’re a godamn _viral infection,_ he thinks bitterly as the butterflies swirl harder than ever before. 

*

There’s a knock on his door just as he’s on the brink of falling asleep. For a brief second, he considers not answering because it’s 10:46 pm and anyone who knows Sakusa knows he sleeps promptly at 10:30 pm. The knocking turns into banging, so he’s forced to get up to answer. 

It ends up being a worried-looking Atsumu with bags in both of his hands. Of course, it is. 

An awkward moment passes by where Sakusa is pretty sure he’s supposed to be doing something but his mind is blank again and his stomach is once again an entire butterfly conservatory. So he just stares, mouth open, no words coming out.

“Omi-kun! Great to see ya alive,” A great thing about Atsumu is that he has a habit of doing all the talking for you. Sometimes it drives him crazy, other times, he’s so glad. 

“I’m coming in, gotta take care of my wing spiker now, don’t I?” He holds up the bags to make his point and Sakusa nods faintly and lets him in. 

He wishes he would’ve slammed the door on his face (he doesn’t, not really). 

The setter walks into his home and immediately makes it his own. Always has. He’s been over a few times, usually bringing over food, since Sakusa prefers to head home after matches while the rest of the team spends it out. They’ll have a few drinks, discuss strategies with each other, watch a movie if it isn’t too late. 

“I like takin’ care of you,” he remembers him saying one time while he was over, after a drink too many, “like knowin’ you’re all good beside me.” 

Sakusa likes it when he’s over, it’s comfortable. Most of the time. 

Except for now. He’s sick, nobody should be over right now, even if Miya was the one who gave it to him in the first place. 

He stares, helplessly annoyed, as Miya takes things out of the grocery bags one by one. There’s a brand new thermometer, some cold medicine, cough drops, tissues, an array of canned soups, and last he takes out a big jar of pickled plums. 

“—I know these are your favorite so I picked ‘em up from Osamu since he uses ‘em for one of his Onigiri specials or somethin’ like that, he had a ton, I can bring you even more if you want! He’s got tons, I can definitely sneak you more!”

Sakusa stares at him. This might be the first time Atsumu is directly avoiding eye contact with him, he’s rubbing his hand awkwardly on his neck and has a funny look on his face. 

“I guess I went sorta overboard, huh?” 

“Just a little. I already have five thermometers,” Sakusa was surprised he could talk, but strangely the butterflies didn’t feel as violent as before, rather it was a pleasant hum that made its way to his chest. 

“Oh, right. I guess you would,” he said, finally meeting Sakusa’s eyes. “Well, have you checked your temp?” 

“I checked it a while ago.”

“Don’t you have to check it often? Why don’t you lay down since I know you were sleepin’ just now, I’ll bring you some medicine and take your temp for you!” And Atsumu looks so determined, Sakusa doesn’t have the strength to tell him that whatever he came down with is all in his head and most likely because he l—

“Fine.” 

Sakusa heads back into his room and lays down, wondering when the butterflies started making their way to his _heart._

He comes back with a damp towel, medicine, a thermometer, bottled water and a small bowl of pickled plums. Sakusa stares almost fondly as he dumbly tries balancing everything in his arms, managing to make it to the side table. 

“Can I sit?” There’s a nervousness in his voice that comes to Sakusa’s attention. He’s weak so he nods and scoots over, and he realizes that Atsumu is now very much sitting on the edge of his bed. For some reason, he thinks he doesn’t mind Miya on here with him too. 

“I disinfected the thermometer and everythin’, I didn’t know where your other ones were so I just opened the new one, uh,” If he wasn’t feeling a tiny bit desperate for him to stay he would’ve teased him, _that nervous to be in bed with me huh, Miya?_

Instead, he opens his mouth. 

He’s not really sure if he imagines the small sound Atsumu makes at the back of his throat or not. The thermometer is gently placed on the top of his tongue and Sakusa tries his best not to look up at his setter who is now way too close to his face. 

Making the mistake of doing so let's all the stupid butterflies out. 

Atsumu’s brows are furrowed and his eyes are swimming with deep concern, and it startles him because since when has he ever had that look for anything that wasn’t associated with volleyball? Even then, their worst plays weren’t even closely met with this level of absolute intensity and _oh._

Oh. 

“I lwike ywo.” 

_Fuck_ the butterflies. 

The thermometer is taken out of his mouth and Atsumu gapes at him. Sakusa supposes he should feel more embarrassed but instead he feels a wave of relief, because _finally,_ the butterflies settle down. 

“Say that again. Without a thermometer in your mouth.” 

“You make me fucking _sick_ ,” Sakusa sees Atsumu flinch back, but he continues “I like you so much, it makes me physically sick.” 

In the dim room, he can see his setter practically beam down at him. “You’re not playin’ with me are you, Kiyoomi?” Sakusa thinks he likes the sound of his name off his tongue almost as much as he likes the man himself. 

“Why would I be joking about this? You _are_ the reason I missed an hour of practice, what am I supposed to do if Bokuto and Hinata catch up to my spikes?” 

Atsumu laughs and brings his hand to his cheek. 

“I like you too, Omi-Omi. Have for a while now. To think I won you over with a thermometer and some pickled plums, gonna have to thank Osamu.” The same soft smile he gave him during practice was on his face again, and Sakusa thinks the butterflies inside him can be pretty after all. 

“Can I kiss you?”

“No, because I’m kissing you first, Miya Atsumu.” 

Atsumu laughs as he pulls at his neck and brings their lips together. 

*

It’s 1 am when Sakusa reaches to turn the lamp on the side table, pickled plums, thermometer, and all forgotten. Atsumu is tucked into him, hair a mess, limbs tangled in his. Snapping a picture, he texts Ushijima:

_You were right, I wasn’t sick. It was the butterflies._

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first ever fic so pls feel free to drop a comment!! I am realizing now I probably wrote these losers super out of character but fluff is always needed.


End file.
